


Christmas, Mitchell Residence

by Scribe



Category: British Comedian RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2017-11-22 07:14:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/607210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scribe/pseuds/Scribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt "holiday cheer".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marginaliana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marginaliana/gifts).



Over the years David has managed to claw his way into his own self-respect, into if not confidence then at least comfort, a sense of knowing who he is and mostly liking it—but there's nothing like extended family for making you revert to an awkward, insecure teenager. 

They're in the pre-dinner mill-around-and-chat portion of Christmas, which is his least favorite part. In the morning everyone's attention is on the kids, at dinner he can usually manage to snag a seat next to his brother or the one cousin he actually likes, and after dinner it's perfectly acceptable to take a nap or stare blearily at the television while your stomach tries to make sense of what's just happened to it. Mill-around-and-chat, though, is the absolute worst.

There's the way that half of his family doesn't seem to think comedy is a real job, and the other half always wants to grill him about whether he's met this or that celebrity, which is awkward when he hasn't and somehow more awkward on the few occasions when he has. Enough cross-examination and he starts feeling like he's on Would I Lie To You. Sometimes he gets a little bit of an urge to just make up an answer and see if he can pull it off. He's also really inexcusably bad at remembering people's places of employment or whether they've broken up with their significant others since last year or what activities their children engage in or any of the other topics he's expected to know about.

For example, he's currently stuck in a conversation with his mother's cousin's new husband and stepson (the other problem with extended family is how it seems to be _constantly growing_ ) about how much they love ice hockey, of all things. David is mostly mm-hmming along and trying desperately to remember the kid's name. 

"He started playing when he was four," says the father proudly, and the kid insists,

"No, I was younger than that! You always say I was skating as soon as I could walk. I just came out with skates on!" 

The father laughs uproariously and claps the kid on the back. "Don't let your mother hear you say you came out! You'll give her a heart attack!" He grins over at David to share the joke and David just…freezes.

If he were a different sort of person he might feel some kind of inclination to violence at this point. If he were himself but anywhere else he would have something witty and cutting to say, turn the man's ignorance back on him and make him look foolish, stupid. He could take down an unruly audience member or a guest with aplomb, but stuck in his parent's sitting room with this man who is somehow family even though they're utter strangers he just comes up blank, blank, blank, stammers an excuse and escapes to the bathroom.

"Well, that was pathetic," he tells himself, sitting on the closed toiled lid and failing to muster the courage to leave. He is absolutely better than this, beyond this, but somehow he never quite manages to bring his adult self home for Christmas. Something about this house makes him thin-skinned. Maybe he can fake a bad reaction to his aunt's tray of indefinable "nibbly things" and just hide in here all day.

Without really thinking about it he takes his phone from his pocket and texts Charlie,

_Require pithy observation on futility of holiday cheer for continued survival._

Eventually he flushes the toilet for form's sake, feels briefly guilty about wasting water to cover up his neuroses, and heads back into the fray. Charlie hasn't texted back. David keeps a hand pressed against his trouser leg so he won't miss the vibration and nods along to somebody's conversation, feeling increasingly anxious. 

Texting was maybe a bad idea. Surely Charlie's busy; it's Christmas. Why doesn't David know what his plans were? He should have asked, he's a terrible friend. Maybe Charlie has some horrid family thing of his own, or maybe he has picture-perfect Christmas traditions and now David sounds whiny and annoying in comparison, or maybe his text totally missed the mark and Charlie's pissed off at being asked to jump like a trained sarcastic monkey on the one day of the year he _doesn't_ have to do that, or-

The phone buzzes, luckily.

There are no pithy observations forthcoming. Instead, Charlie has written, _do you need me to fake an emergency phone call to get you out of there? I think I feel a car crash coming on…_. It's so unexpectedly sweet that David grins down at his phone and actually feels his face heating a little, which is kind of embarrassing because honestly, it's just a text message, and also he is going to be in trouble if a nosy family member sees him smiling and blushing at his phone and asks who's on the other end.

 _Not necessary just yet,_ he types back, _but I'll keep the offer in mind._

 _do. emergencies are my specialty,_ says Charlie almost immediately.

Then dinner is mercifully served and he manages to snag the seat next to Emily the good cousin, so all in all the evening forecast turns to bearable. Throughout the meal Charlie keeps texting him increasingly improbable emergencies he's willing to fake, which makes David smile every time he feels the phone vibrate.

_appendicitis_

_cat run over by suv, need comforting_

_ninja attack!!_

_suv run over by cat, need comforting_

_doorknob fell off, stuck inside, need your expertise_

_you’ve been elected prime minister but only if you start right now_

_trapped under fallen bookshelf_

_christmas charity drive for children with no sarcasm_

_acute lack of mitchells in brooker residence_

The last one makes David just stare at his phone for a moment, feeling his own heartbeat thudding, trying desperately not to overanalyze. 

"So who've you been texting all night?" asks Emily with a grin, elbowing him lightly. She's the good cousin; it occurs to David that he could probably tell her. He won't, but it's a good thought, that he could, it's nice to have that present itself as a possibility. It makes the future feel vaguely hopeful, open ended. New year-y.

Hell, maybe he'll text back and ask if Charlie has Boxing Day plans.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timestamp: one year later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For More Joy Day 2015!

"It's really not too late to back out," says Charlie, squinting into the wind as they trudge up the block toward his parents' house. Or at least that's the stated plan; David's never been to Charlie's parents' house, so presumably Charlie could be leading them anywhere at all and he'd be none the wiser.

"It's fine," he says. "It's only a couple of hours. How bad can it be?"

Charlie slants a sideways look at him. "They're going to interrogate you."

"It's a good thing I spend a lot of time getting interrogated professionally, then."

"That sounds like someone's paying you to be tortured."

"Well, have you seen Would I Lie To You?"

It's fucking freezing. David really hopes the house is close, except for how he's also enjoying walking along the quiet street with Charlie in their own private Christmas morning bubble. He wouldn't mind the bubble being a little warmer, though.

"Once or twice, yeah," says Charlie. "They have this one panelist that I sort of fancy."

He bumps their shoulders together. David can feel himself blushing under his scarf; neither of them are that good with compliments, but as a rule Charlie gives them more easily than he receives them. He flounders for a moment, and then gives up on finding an appropriate response.

"Are _you_ sure about this?" he asks instead. "I could always have one of those conveniently-timed car accidents, I hear you're an expert on those. Or I could sacrifice a non-existent pet."

"I'm sure," says Charlie, and oh, they're turning into a drive. Apparently this house is the house. David has an odd urge to take his hand, which would be out of character for both of them, but something about the look on Charlie's face reminds him of how he always feels when he goes home to his family: tentative, fragile, young. He digs his hands further into his jacket pockets and clears his throat.

"Let me know if you change your mind, though. We can be quickly summoned to Fido's tragic deathbed at any time."

"That's a commendably loyal dog, to die at your command just so you can avoid Christmas morning with my family."

"That is the advantage of hypothetical animals, I've always said. They really go the extra mile."

They've reached the front door. Charlie blows out a breath, tugs David's scarf out of the way, and presses a quick kiss to his lips. He's bright red when he pulls away, but David suspects he is as well.

"Right," says Charlie, and rings the bell.


End file.
